


where you've always belonged

by jayeinacross



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Multi, soul bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayeinacross/pseuds/jayeinacross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s like finding something you hadn’t realized you’d lost, delight at discovering it though you didn’t know it was missing: Enjolras has always been there, but not like <i>this</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where you've always belonged

**Author's Note:**

> For my trope bingo prompt 'soul bonding/soulmates'

It’s like finding something you hadn’t realized you’d lost, delight at discovering it though you didn’t know it was missing: Enjolras has always been there, but not like _this_.

For the rarity of soulbonds and the uniqueness of every one, there’s hardly any definite knowledge about them, but there is one common factor among them all. It doesn’t matter how, or when, or who, but a soulbond is always unmistakable. Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras’ is no exception.

It’s like turning on a light in the evening, when you’ve lost track of time and haven’t noticed how dark it’s gotten: suddenly, everything is brighter, better.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac have been together for so long that Enjolras can hardly remember what it was like before. If you’d asked him who of all his friends would be most likely to have a soulbond, he would have said Combeferre and Courfeyrac before even Marius and Cosette, but he never imagined he’d be part of that equation.

It’s like diving from a height into the water, an adrenaline spike, a heady kind of rush that you can’t get enough of: but in that moment, it’s also one of the most terrifying things you’ve ever done.

Enjolras is in the middle of a discussion with Jehan and Feuilly about their last protest when it happens -- he looks over Jehan’s shoulder and sees Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and suddenly they’re the only people in the room. They stare back at him from across the cafe, conversations forgotten and words dying in their throats, because there’s nothing they can say in this moment to sum up what they’re feeling. Combeferre can’t tear his eyes away from Enjolras, not even when Courfeyrac finds his voice again, hissing Combeferre’s name, fingers clamped around his wrist.

“It’s him,” Combeferre breathes at last, and Courfeyrac’s nails are digging into his skin, but he doesn’t care.

It’s _Enjolras_.

They’ve never felt like there was anything missing from their relationship, but it’s like they’re seeing through different eyes now. Enjolras has been their best friend for years, and that’s the way it’s always been; he’s always fit with them like a jigsaw piece, and now the puzzle is complete, even if they’d never known it hadn’t been before. And Enjolras feels it too, they know that he must, because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t look so scared.

“Enjolras?” Jehan asks, because Enjolras is frozen mid-sentence, staring past him. “What’s wrong?”

Courfeyrac takes a few steps forwards, dragging Combeferre along with him, grip still tight on his wrist, but Enjolras snaps out of it and is pushing through the crowd to the door. A few of their friends are staring, not knowing what has triggered Enjolras’ unusual behaviour. Combeferre can see Grantaire out of the corner of his eye, watching him carefully – of course Grantaire’s noticed that Enjolras had been looking at him and Courfeyrac, even if nobody else has.

“Should we go after him?” Courfeyrac murmurs, not wanting to draw attention. A soulbond is not the kind of thing that is easy to hide, but this is not the time or the place to explain it to anyone, not after Enjolras’ reaction. Combeferre just shakes his head; Enjolras needs time.

Enjolras is a great leader, brimming with confidence and charisma and ambition. Combeferre and Courfeyrac have always been there for him, his support beams, and he could not have done without them. But with these foundations shaken, his perceptions of what they are to him shifted, all Enjolras can think of to do is run.

His phone rings and buzzes, but he switches it to silent when he enters the university library. He retreats to the quiet little corner on the third floor with a law textbook, and he opens it but doesn't read. The view outside the window he's sitting by gets his attention, or at least a little of it -- he's watching people walk by in the sun, but absentmindedly. It’s too nice of a day for the library to be busy, and all of Enjolras’ own friends are in the Cafe Musain, taking a break from studying for the afternoon. Nobody’s come looking for him, but he can’t pretends it’s for any reason other than that they know him well enough to leave him alone to think.

But thinking is just frustrating him. Enjolras’ mind is almost never still, but it is structured -- not this disorganized mess of thoughts, trying to force himself in a single direction, but never quite managing. He can’t help but feel like he needs to be with Courfeyrac and Combeferre right now, but all he wants is to be able to close his eyes and think of nothing.

There’s another vibration of his phone in his pocket, and restless, he finally checks it. There are missed calls and voicemails from both Courfeyrac and Combeferre, but Enjolras doesn’t trust himself not to go straight to them once he’s heard their voices, and he can’t do that yet. A few of the others have texted him, the most recent from Grantaire, and when he opens it, all it says is: _are you okay?_

_Where are you?_ he replies, and when Grantaire’s reply comes almost immediately, he leaves the unread textbook and heads straight over to Grantaire’s apartment.

“Marius is out with Cosette, he won’t be back for a while,” Grantaire says, when he lets Enjolras in.

“Thanks,” Enjolras mutters, sitting down on the worn couch and taking the drink that Grantaire offers him. He’s not entirely sure why he’s here, of all places, with Grantaire -- they’ve never been the of closest friends, but Grantaire always tells it straight, and that’s what Enjolras needs.

“Is it Combeferre and Courfeyrac?” Though Enjolras doesn’t always appreciate Grantaire’s bluntness, he does today.

Enjolras still struggles a little to get the words out, even if Grantaire’s directness is helping. “Yes. It’s...it’s a soulbond.”

For a moment, Grantaire doesn’t say anything, just downs half of his own glass, like he’s bracing himself, though Enjolras doesn’t know why. “Are you scared?”

“Yes.” There’s something about Grantaire that makes this kind of openness seem almost easy. It’s not that Enjolras keeps things from his other friends, it’s just that Grantaire has a uniqueness about him, his own frank honesty that sometimes inspires – or provokes – the same in others. “I suppose I didn’t think that this would, but...everything changes.”

“Some things don’t change, Apollo.” It’s a nickname that the others sometimes tease Enjolras about, but only Grantaire uses in both seriousness and taunts. There’s a look in Grantaire’s eyes that Enjolras has seen many times before, but has never been able to read.

“What do you mean?”

Grantaire shrugs and lights a cigarette, ignoring Enjolras’ disapproving look, bringing it to his lips for a drag before he explains. “You’ve been friends with them forever, and for as long as I’ve known you three, you’ve all been practically inseparable.”

“Courfeyrac and Combeferre have been inseparable, they’ve been together since high school,” Enjolras corrects him, but Grantaire shakes his head.

“I met Courf, and I was introduced to you and Combeferre a day later.” He laughs, a little bitter. “Trust me. It’s always been the three of you. You just fit.”

That’s true, Enjolras supposes – Courfeyrac and Combeferre have never been far away, and always with him when he needed them, and their friendship is one of the most solid things he’s ever known. “But...it’s not like that.”

“It is now. You can’t fight a soulbond, Apollo. It’s meant to be.”

“I didn’t think you were such a romantic.”

“I’m not.” Grantaire taps his cigarette on the edge of his ashtray, takes another drink, and won’t look Enjolras in the eye. “That’s just the way it is.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Enjolras tracing a finger around the edge of his glass, but he’s barely drunk a mouthful. It’s easier to think like this, to confront what his mind is trying to avoid, when Grantaire is here, waiting for him to speak again. He remembers the moment when he realized what had happened – he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget it – some indescribable feeling, but more sure than anything else Enjolras knows.

“It just felt right,” Enjolras says at last. “Just looking at them, it felt different, but right.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out, then.” There’s a small pause. “Marius will probably be back soon, and I figure you don’t want to talk to him before Courf and Combeferre.”

It’s not a dismissal, but Enjolras doesn’t misunderstand him. He stands, putting his mostly untouched glass down. “Thank you, R.”

Enjolras gets in a taxi and gives the driver the address of Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s apartment, and on the way, he listens to the messages that they’ve left. The first two are short, sent not long after Enjolras had left, the cafe’s noises audible in the background, but the last is from later on, from Combeferre’s phone, but from both of them.

_“Enjolras, I know this is a lot to take in,”_ Combeferre starts, voice steady and calm, like he always is. Other than Courfeyrac in the background, everything else is quiet. _"It's not easy for any of us, I know. But when you're ready..."_

_"We're always here, Enjolras,"_ and that's Courfeyrac. _"Always have been, always will be."_

_“When we saw you today...”_ Combeferre is not often at a loss for words, but Enjolras understands. There’s no adequate description for what it’s like, only simple words that can’t express its full meaning. _“It was something else today, even though we’ve seen you like that so many times before.”_

_“The same but different,”_ Courfeyrac interjects. _“We always loved you, but it’s like we never realized how much until now.”_

_“We do love you,”_ Combeferre says quietly. _“We’re at home. We’ll wait for you.”_

“Some things don’t change,” Enjolras murmurs.

When he’s finally standing outside Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s apartment, the door opens and they’re both standing there, looking at him like they haven’t seen him in years, all Enjolras can really think to say is, “I got your message.”

It’s enough.

 

* * *

 

They’d never imagined that they would fit into each other’s lives even more closely than before, probably never thought that it was even possible, but it works. Enjolras slots in with them with ease, and it’s just right.

Some things don’t change: Courfeyrac still drags them away from their desks when they’re overworking themselves and makes them relax, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre still stand beside Enjolras every day and make him breakfast or dinner every now and then, because he’s a disaster in the kitchen. They still tease each other, and know each other better than anyone, and they still take care of each other. And some things are new, like stealing kisses whenever they can, and Enjolras waking up to Combeferre curled up against him because Courfeyrac’s rolled over during the night and stolen all the sheets. Enjolras and Courfeyrac kissing on the couch while they wait for Combeferre to get home so they can drag him to bed and washing each other’s hair in the shower, trying not to get suds in their eyes -- new, and unexpected, and perfect.


End file.
